


Tank Fight

by paranomasia



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Come on it's mormor there's always violence, Graphic Description, M/M, Violence, it's more about Moran himself, well it's not really MORMOR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paranomasia/pseuds/paranomasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is on a stealth mission, but it doesn't quite go according to plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tank Fight

**Written for a prompt on Tumblr by the lovely Iamtheseeker. 'Could you write a mormor fic to Joseph LoDuca's "Tank Flight"? Like... Seb is on a stealth mission but it doesn't quite go to plan? Idk what I want, just a little fic written to that piece...'**

**Enjoy (:**

* * *

He has been slipping in and out of consciousness for days, though it could be more. Could be weeks, be months, be minutes even, but he doesn’t suppose it’s been only minutes, because his arms are stiff, as are his legs and when he finally is able to move them a bit, he can see the figure that’s sitting next to him move. He can basically feel the disappointment radiating towards him, and he feels the need to apologise. Yet he can’t speak, his tongue to dry to push forward the words he needs to explain exactly how sorry he is. When he opens his mouth, there’s suddenly a glass pressed against his lips, water flowing over the edge, spilling over the sides of his face. He tries to swallow as much as possible, but he still almost chokes and coughs and winces at the pain rippling through his muscles. But the water had done him good, his body eagerly absorbing the fluid that he was obviously lacking. He was able to focus a bit better, to turn his head and look at the person next to him. “B-bo..”

There is a snort, and an arm moving over him, over his head, reaching for something behind him, and he hears the click of a button and then things are spinning again, darkness closing in on him once more, and he tries to fight it but can’t, so he just gives in and sinks back in his head.

 

He remembers the stairs. Remembers reaching the top floor of the building, the deserted apartment dirty, showing obviously no one had been there in a long time. Months perhaps. The building would’ve turned into new luxury flats, meant for the richest and most arrogant people in the world - as those building always were - but the investor had suddenly disappeared, and the work had been abandoned. He still remembers the desperate screams when he had been ordered to skin the man. Hadn’t taken long however, because Sebastian  _knew_  how to skin and how to do it quickly. It was something he had learnt from a Chinese cadet, a technique so simple and utterly painful, so useful, and he had used it a lot.

He had taken a look around, trying to remember every detail he could for later reference. It had supposed to be easy, looking around, memorising, walking out and returning later, but it never ended that way. He’d been about to leave, hand already reaching for his cellphone to inform Jim he’d be back soon, that everything was going according to plan, when the doorknob turned and Seb reacted instinctively, tugging open the door that led towards the terrace, jumping on the ledge and reaching up for the edge of the building, pulling up his legs and looking for a dent in the wall to put them. There wasn’t one. He had sighed, grimaced, tried to get a better grip. He wouldn’t have been able to hold that position long, thus didn’t, dropping down on the terrace as soon as he heard someone come outside, supposing that, whoever it was, it wasn’t someone who was on Seb’s side. He’d been right, smirked as he saw the round-faced idiot that had previously caused Jim some trouble, his eyes rolled back in their sockets, and it had taken Seb a couple seconds to realise that the man had made a very unfortunate fall. He should’ve looked up, should’ve known that the man wouldn’t have been alone and that there would be other people but he hadn’t, only had when he felt the cold metal pressed against the side of his head and the accented English ordering him to get up.  
  


_Click. “Get up.”_

_Sebastian smirked, keeping his face cool as he lifted his eyes to meet dark ones staring right back at him. “I’ve had a little accident, gentlemen. Surely there’s no need for such a harsh voice?” He slowly got up, dusting off his dark jeans and cracking his knuckles, showing no fear at the gun that had moved from his temple to his forehead. The man looked him over, frowned, then grinned and pulled the gun away. “Ha ha ha. Sebastian Moran.”_

_Unexpected. Strange. Useful? Perhaps._

_“You killed my father.”_

_Not very useful, then._

_“Who do I have the honour of speaking to, then?” Seb glanced over the man’s shoulder. There were other people there. A lot of them. More than he could handle on his own. “Because that’s a severe accusation to make, my friend.”_

_The man’s face changed, the grin melting right off his face, and Seb could see it, see the resemblance with the man who had been slowly bleeding to death under his hands. “Ah. Montoya’s son.”_

_“So you remember.” The man sneered, pocketing his gun and turning around to the other people in the room. “He remembers!” They all laughed, cheered, and Seb frowned, his mind racing with possibilities to get out of the room in under a minute. After only a second he realised he couldn’t. He tried to see exactly how high the building was, a reflex, even though he knew it was too high to survive the fall. He wouldn’t jump. He couldn’t die because he jumped off a building. That was a bit too Sherlock Holmes for his liking._

_“So, Sebastian Moran. Now you remember..” The man, Montoya’s offspring, turned to him again, a very ugly smirk on his face as he pulled out a knife. A very familiar knife. HIS knife. Seb squinted his eyes, trying to remember when and where he had left it behind, that it would’ve come in this man’s possession. He quickly focused on every movement the man made, taking a step back, his back pressing against the railing of the terrace. “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” And he lunched forward, Seb only just in time stepping aside, grabbing Montoya’s arm, turning him around to push it up behind his back, using all his force to keep the knife as far as possible from him. Montoya squealed, and it reminded him of a pig ready for slaughter and it made him smile, slamming his elbox in the man’s back but then there was a stabbing pain in his ankle and he sank to the floor without wanting to. Achilles heel. Cut._

_He gasped, reaching up behind him, and then more pain, his shoulder this time. The right one, luckily, but still he was in a compromising situation, so when someone grabbed his wrists and pulled them behind him he couldn’t do anything, and then Montoya got up and the knife flickered in the sunlight and the blade was on his skin.  
_

He had fallen. He had been able to hold on to the ledge of a terrace a couple times, slowing down his fall because he knew that if he wanted to survive this he would have to make sure he didn’t hit the pavement too hard. His entire body ached, only the adrenaline keeping him conscious as he saw the floors race by, the ground rush closer and closer. He reached up with his wounded arm as well, holding on a bit longer to the ledge of the second floor, his body slamming against the railing. But when he fell the last couple meters, landing on his feet, hearing the crack of some bone in his body - he hadn’t been quite sure which one - he had knew that he would live. He had felt it. So even when the dust stung in the open wounds on his arms, the raw flesh trembling and shivering in an attempt to flinch away from the pain, he had still been conscious enough to press on the little button of the beeper he always carried with him. The one that sent  **CODE BLACK**  to Jim.

 

(MAGICAL EPILOGUE FULL OF FAIRIES:

“You’re a fucking idiot, Moran.” Was the first words that were used to welcome him when he woke up again. “I’m going to flush your head in the toilet the moment you get home.” And Sebastian managed to smirk this time, managed to open his mouth and reply. “Get fucked, boss.”)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting on here so I'm still getting used to the lay-out.. Please let me know if I'm screwing things up.  
> Also, someone caught the Princess Bride Reference? (:


End file.
